Denmark placed the phone's speaker back in place. "Everything's running fine, apparently. It's not like his people don't even realize he's gone."

He looked and Sweden and Finland, sitting on a couch they had moved so that its back was against the wall, dressed in full uniform. Like Denmark, who had reattached his trusty axe to his belt, they had geared up; Sweden's hand rested on the hilt of his ancient iron sword, while Finland hugged his battered sniper rifle, in addition to a pistol case hanging on his belt.

Denmark gave Finland a long look. "How come you have so many weapons with you? What were you expecting to happen?"

Finland blinked. "I always have these with me." He began rummaging through his pockets. "I have more if you want something extra."

"Yeah, no thanks."

Denmark shot a questioning look at Sweden, who nodded. "'S true.

"Fine." Denmark threw himself on a chair, annoyed by his paranoia. Next thing he knew, he'd be jumping at shadows or something as asinine as that.

He glanced at the couch. At least he wasn't alone with his concerns. When he had suggested they all fetch some weapons — just in case — instead of bemusement he had been answered with sober nods.

"Anyway," he continued, keeping his eyes where they were. "Iceland's boss said everything's fine. Things aren't all that good, but no different from yesterday. Either he lied, or he really doesn't know what happened to Iceland."

"Didya t'll him?"

"No." Denmark frowned. "It would only make things worse." He feigned an excessively cheery voice. "Why hello Mister President, have your noticed that your nation is dead?"

"Come to think of it," Finland rubbed his chin, "isn't this odd? I know we can die, but have you ever heard of a death by stab wounds alone? That shouldn't happen."

"W'all saw him," said Sweden somberly.

They all looked away.

Denmark sighed. They had left Iceland as they had found him, none having the heart to disturb him. Still, having been the only one to actually check Iceland's pulse and breathing, Denmark could safely say he was undoubtedly dead.

Something was rotten in the state of Iceland, indeed, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Since Iceland's people still lived in relative prosperity, with no nation claiming as their own, by all accounts Iceland should have still be alive regardless of his wounds. Perhaps they had been too hasty in declaring him dead just because his heart didn't beat?

An image of Iceland's pale corpse swam through Denmark's mind.

Denmark absent-mindedly stroked the cool metal surface of his axe with his thumb. Poor kid. Done nothing to deserve his fate, that was for sure. Had no enemies Denmark could think of either. Yet there was no question that someone had attacked him, with the kind of ferocity people usually reserved for their worst enemies.

Denmark took his axe in his hands and examined it carefully. He had done his best to keep it from getting rusty, but that didn't change the fact that it had been quite a while he and his trusty weapon had been engaged in a real battle.

An uninvited mental image of Prussia grinning triumphantly before showing Denmark's face even deeper into the muddy battlefield made him shake his head wildly from side to side, hoping it would wipe out the memory of the scathing defeat.

The point was, Iceland didn't even carry his weapon with him. Why would anyone hate him so much as to murder him?

There was another question: where the hell had Norway gone? All signs pointed to him leaving freely, but why through the window? Why on the same night that his brother died?

Denmark shook his head again as his brain drew the obvious conclusions. That couldn't be. Norway loved Iceland. Annoying and teasing Iceland were one thing, but repeatedly stabbing him? There was no way Norway had it in him. If Denmark knew Norway at all, he would rather stab himself first.

The worn-out leather creaked under him as he shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position. Now, Norway had been acting a bit strangely lately, glaring at Denmark more than usual and refusing to share a bed with both him and Iceland, but nothing the sort that would implicate him. Besides, while Norway was the one with the most opportunities to do harm to Iceland, having spent the most time with him, nothing changed the fact he had absolutely no motive.

Who could it be, then? Denmark shifted his suspicious glance at Sweden and Finland. There was no way Sweden could have snuck out on him to murder someone, and while if Iceland had been sniped from the outside he might have suspected Finland, the fact remained that Finland was only dangerous when provoked. Not to mention that like with Norway, neither of them had any motive to harm Iceland that Denmark could think of.

Denmark shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the table in front of him. "What do you two think?"

Finland turned to look out of the window. "I really don't know. I mean, I don't know Noru-kun as well as you do, but I know he would never do something like that to Iceland." The afternoon sun gave his sleek ashen hair a golden hue.

Denmark and Sweden nodded at the exact same moment.

"That's what I've been thinking too," Denmark admitted. "It makes no sense."

"Nor's m'ssing tho'gh."

Denmark met Sweden's eyes. "Yeah. And related to this or not, we have to find him."

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Finland asked.

"No particularly good ones." Denmark thrummed on the table with his fingers.

If both mysteries were connected, only one obvious conclusion rose from the mire of possibilities: an outsider behind both the murder and disappearance. But who? Excluding the Nordics, most nations often forgot Iceland even existed. Who could it possibly be?

An image of Russia smiling made its way to his mind, but he dismissed it. Russia had no motive, either. No-one did, as far as he knew.

He kicked the table. It was pointless.

"I'm going for a walk," he declared, standing up and grabbing his coat.

Sweden raised his eyebrow. "'Lone?"

Denmark patted his axe. "I'll be fine."

"Right, you should be safe with Bloody Geyser Stalk." Finland frowned. "Be careful anyway, Ta-san."

"No-one tell you it's rude to name other people's weapons? Later." With that, Denmark strode off, exuding confidence and calm he didn't actually have.

Walking outside didn't do much to improve Denmark's mood. It was too different from home, with the looming mountains and thin trees.

Even so, at least by focusing on his steps and the leaves on the ground he could let his thoughts drift away from the mystery at hand. A relief to say in the least. It had only been six hours in total, and already Denmark felt he was driving himself insane puzzling over the death.

A distant memory of a young Iceland, dressed in a long white gown and laughing when he thought no-one was there to see him clouded his vision.

He paused, cursed, and kept going.

Was there a reason why the windows in Iceland's room were open? Did Norway leave them open? Did whoever killed him open them? Why?

He grimaced. If nothing else, if they found Norway he'd have answers to some of the questions burning him up from within.

He heard a sudden sound, and turned his head just in time to see a raven flying towards the setting sun. Rolling his eyes, and removing his hand from the hilt of his axe, he kept going.

What about the murder weapon? It had been some kind of blade, no doubt about that, but where was it now? Could Sweden have somehow left and re-entered the room they slept in without waking Denmark up? Did Finland have a switchblade hidden somewhere.

Denmark grimaced. Again he had begun to suspect his fellow Nordics based on no real evidence. He had to put a stop to it.

Another unexpected sound, and again he looked up from his boots.

This time, he found himself face to face with Norway.

Or rather, looking up to Norway. He was standing on a large, flat rock by the side of the path, still as a statue. In his right hand, he held an ancient spear that Denmark recognized as Iceland's. A ray of sunlight hit the spear's tip, and it shone like silver.

Denmark rubbed his eyes. Norway was still there.

"Is that really you?"

Norway's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yes."

"Why did you leave?"

As a response. Norway raised the spear towards the sky. "Iceland wanted this."

Denmark's mouth dried at the mention of Iceland. "Listen, Nor, before we head back, there's something you need to know."

Norway looked away. "No reason for me to return now."

"Oh." Something about this didn't sit right with Denmark. "So, you already know."

Norway made no response, but Denmark decided to take his slight bowing of his head as agreement.

"Look, Nor," Denmark took a step forward, squeezing his hands into tight fists, "I hate asking this, but I have to." He swallowed. "Did you kill Iceland?"

There was a profound silence. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cried out.

Norway sighed and brushed strands of his sunset-dyed hair off his shoulder and met Denmark's gaze. "I didn't lay a finger on him."

Denmark narrowed his eyes. "How about a knife?"

"No."

Denmark nodded. "Fair enough." Not that he had truly suspected Norway of murdering Iceland, not beyond a small nagging doubt, but regardless he felt better for having asked. "How did you know he was dead?"

"Magic."

If anyone else had tried to give Denmark that answer, he would have strangled them. As it was, however, when it came to Norway, he was ready to accept it. "Fine. Any magical or otherwise knowledge on who did it?"

"Yes."

Denmark's eyebrows rose as high as they could go. "You know who the killer is?"

"Yes."

Denmark's heart skipped a beat. He slammed his hands against the slab of granite that served as Norway's platform. "Who was it?"

Norway's gaze could have frozen the sun. "A Nordic."

"Who?" A part of Denmark warned him that Norway was merely toying with him for reasons unknown, but he couldn't help himself.

Was it Denmark's imagination, or did Norway smile ever so slightly? "That's for you to figure out."

And just like that, still smiling, he jumped off the rock and vanished from Denmark's sight.

"Norway!" Denmark spent only a second dazed before jumping on the rock himself, furiously scanning his surrounding for any sign of the fellow Nordic. "Are you nuts? Your brother's dead, and you're playing some weird games when you should be helping us out— Norway!"

But it was in vain. Whatever trick Norway had used to disappear so effectively had all but spirited him away, and all that was left for Denmark to do was to curse and skulk back towards Iceland's house.

A raven flew past him, no doubt the same specimen he had seen before, and cawed at him with what Denmark chose to interpret as malicious intent. Before Denmark could find a rock at it, however, it flew away, by the looks of it heading towards his destination.

Cold sweat ran down Denmark's spine.

What the fuck is going on?